CHAPTER 23During the ten seconds which it took him to whip out his handkerchief and wipe, first the knob to remove his fingerprints, then his blood-smeared hand, fear poured over him like crushing surf. Sibyl had come to Lexington to find Hay-Hay Greld; she would have found out he lived here at Baskoulos’ Motel Grand Luxe. Had she come here? Was she still here?
Don tried the knob again; it turned. He glanced around at an Italian sports car which had rolled up to 64 with a young couple; they were too intent on each other—honeymooners, possibly, he guessed—to pay any attention to him. He went in quickly—felt a surge of relief that there was no corpse stretched on the wall-to-wall carpet.
He stepped to the bathroom door; no one behind that shower curtain. The closet adjoining was full of cl
